Howl (2019)

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by memes,
obese hysterical soyboobed,
dragging themselves through the internet at dawn looking
for an angry fix,
emptyheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the nuclear family in the machinery of the web,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up vaping
in the supernatural darkness of their basement rooms rotting
within asocial networks contemplating hate,
who bared their brains to Facebook under the i and saw
Mohammedan devils recruiting in their private chats
indoctrinated,
who passed through universities with unthinking dead eyes
hallucinating New England and Gates-light tragedy among the
scholars of race,
who were expelled from the academies for whiteness & publishing
obscene stats on the windows of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, sending their
money to instathots and listening to Fashwave through
AirPods,
who got doxed on their primaries tweeting racist facts
with a pic of FBI stats for New York,
who drank soylent at festivals or ate tide pods on Instagram
Alley, death, or purgatoried their egos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and
cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind links of rickrolling, pr0n and lightning in
the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Peterson,
illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,
Fentanyl quieting Hells, backyard green tree cemetery dawns,
wine drunkenness in a rental shoebox, xanax numbness of
coping joyless, neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon
and three vibrators in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn,
tumblr rantings and juul king light of mind,
who chained themselves to tablets for the endless stream of
Punisher to Game of Thrones on benzedrine until the noise of
text and alerts brought them down shuddering
mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of
brilliance in the drear light of Goog,
who sank all night in monitor light of Netflix floated out
and sat through the IPA afternoon on desolate
comment boards, listening to the shitposters in the media
wasteland,
who talked continuously seventy hours from wall to feed to post to
podcast to YouTube to the Reddit front page,
a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists clicking “like” on
bantz, on fire replies to focus grouped tweets of politicans out
of DC,
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and
memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of
broken homes and schools and wars,
whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and
nights with aspie eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on
the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen Snapchat leaving a trail of
ambiguous picture selfies of bathroom mirror walls,
suffering Eastern sweats and chad bone-grindings and
migraines of vodka under dick-withdrawal to pulsing beats
that fill the room,
who wandered around and around at midnight on the dancefloor
drunk wondering where to go, and went, leaving no trojan
wraps,
who lit cigarettes in bunkbeds bunkbeds bunkbeds racketing
through snow toward lonesome dorms in grandfather night,
who studied Walker Klein St. Trayvon of Florida reiki and
Meyers-Briggs because the webcam instinctively vibrated at
their feet on Pornhub, who rubbed their shapely feet for
boomer men seeking corrupted childlike angels who were corrupted
childlike angels,
who thought they were only men when poor camgirls smiled in
artificial ecstasy,
who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of UC Berkeley on
the impulse of winter midnight streetlight college town rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Bumble seeking love
or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Yemeni to
converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and
so took a plane to Arabia,
who disappeared into the towers of UAE leaving behind
nothing but the shadow of innocence and the lipstick and phone of
poetry scattered in fireplace Bethesda,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating Monsanto in
beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes hollow in their dark
skin tweeting out incomprehensible hashtags,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms resisting the
narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets at the Supreme Court
weeping and undressing while the sirens of the Capitol
wailed them down, and wailed down K, and the Foggy
Bottom metro also wailed,
who broke down crying at white justices naked and
trembling before the reality of other opinions,
who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in
policecars for committing no crime but their own soul
cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off
the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,
who let themselves be fucked in the ass by movie producers,
and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human demonkin, the actors,
caresses of Disney and Warner Brothers love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and
the potted ficuses of offices scattering their
semen freely to whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob
behind a partition on a casting couch when the fat & balding
hellbeast came to pierce them with a sword,
who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one
eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew
that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does
nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden
threads of the craftsman’s loom.
who copulated absent and insensate with a bottle of Zima a
sweetheart a package of vape juice a roofie and fell off the
bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and
felt nothing on the wall with a vision of valueless cunt
and come eluding the last vestige of consciousness,
who dried up the snatches of a million girls trembling in the
sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to
sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks on
tinder and naked in their pics,
who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad summoned
Lyft-cars,A.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and
Adonis of J-ville–joy to the memory of his innumerable lays
of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, boathouses’
rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt
waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings
& especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, &
hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams,
woke on a sudden Orlando, and picked themselves up out
of basements hungover with heartless Islay and horrors of
Epcot Center iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment
offices,
who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the
Lejeune streets waiting for a door in the Driftwood to open
to a room full of steamheat and watered beer,
who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of
Molly Pitcher under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon &
their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,
who ate the chilli mac of the imagination or digested the omelet at
the muddy bottom of the river Euphrates,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their roach coaches full
of kebabs and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and
rose up to build fighting holes in their lofts,

who coughed on the sixth floor of Baghdad crowned with flame
under the tubercular sky surrounded by olive crates of
reality,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations
which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,
who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas
dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for tofu,
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for
Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads
every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave
up and were forced to open consulting firms where they thought
they were growing old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent Brooks Bros suits at one World Trade
Center amid blasts of falling steel & the tanked-up clatter of
the iron magazines of Kristol & the nitroglycerine shrieks of
the think tanks & the mustard gas of sinister
intelligent editors, or were run down by the Paki taxicabs
of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Wilson Bridge this actually happened and
walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of
Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free
beer,
who sang into their pillows in despair, fell out of the Uber
window, jumped in the filthy Potomac, leaped on scooters, cried
all over the street, danced on plastic wineglasses barefoot
deleted Spotify playlists of acoustic Feminist 1990s
Alternative rock finished the Fireball and threw up groaning into
the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of
colossal Beats by Dre,
who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to the
each other’s Prius-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or
dubstep incarnation, who drove crosstown
seventytwo hours to find out if I had a signal or you had
a signal or he had a signal to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Menlo, who died in Menlo, who came back to
Menlo & waited in vain, who watched over Menlo &
brooded & loned in Menlo and finally went away to find
out the Time, & now Menlo is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless Cathedrals praying for each
other’s wokeness and klout and breasts, until the soul
illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in cubes waiting for impossible
criminals with golden heads and the charm of equality in their
hearts who sang rough folk to Mountain View,
who retired to Boulder to cultivate a habit, or Austin to
tender Malverde or San Fran to boys or Southern Pacific to
become Thai women or Harvard to Narcissus to Park Slope to the
poly life or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the Russians of hypnotism &
were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,
who threw avocado toast at TedX lecturers on Pareto and
subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of
the Academy with shaven heads and harlequin speech of
suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,
and who were given instead the career void of publishing ethnographs
intersectionality queer theory psychotherapy hormonal therapy
foosball & amnesia,
who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic foosball
table, resting briefly in catatonia,
returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and
tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of
the madtowns of the East,
Penn State’s Cornell’s and Georgetown’s foetid halls, bickering
with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the
midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life
a nightmare, bodies turned to suet as heavy as the moon,
with father finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out
of the dormitory window, and the last door closed at 4 a.m.
and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the
last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental
furniture, a blue and white pompom twisted on a wire hanger in the
closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little
bit of hallucination–
ah, Clark, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re
really in the total animal soup of time–
and who therefore ran through the icy fields obsessed with a
sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the graph the
paint tool the screenshot & the quoted victim,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in reason & law through
emojis juxtaposed, and trapped the champion of the cucks
between 2 visual images and joined the elemental truths and
set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping
with sensation of ipsissima verba, scire feci
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and
stand before you speechless and midwit and shaking
with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform
to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,
the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting
down here what might be left to say in time come after
death,
and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of RAH in the e-ink
shadow of the man and blew the suffering of America’s naked
mind for freedom into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani
gravel boat launch that shivered the cities down to the last radio
with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their
own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

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